


all work and no play

by foundCarcosa



Category: Fable 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Desk Sex, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 05:06:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6315904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foundCarcosa/pseuds/foundCarcosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garth Toren didn't get his Ph.D. by being a slacker, but his fiancée reminds him of what he's missing out on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all work and no play

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of an AU roleplayed by Me [Garth] and My girlfriend [Sparrow], called -- wait for it -- _Research and Personal Development_. Garth is an astrophysicist and Sparrow is a private-school teacher. They live in Silicon Valley, he drives a Tesla, she deals with rich-kid parents with grace and charm and sometimes some well-deserved sass, it's all very fancy, we love it. :p

He'd finished the grant proposals four hours ago, and he'd told himself that he would go up to bed as soon as those were done.  
And then he'd checked his email, a reflex, really, because who knows when someone would email you at half-past eleven with a PDF of the latest journal -- "chk out pgs 11-21, 32-36, thoughts? sloan is one to watch yeah? hmu" -- or a question that couldn't just be left for morning, they needed the answer _now,_ because no one wanted to be left hanging all night, and God knows that physicists never sleep. You learnt that on your first day in undergrad.  
He spent an hour answering emails, because he is a notorious fact-checker and everyone that emails him does so because they trust he'll put in the legwork, and sometimes that was annoying because they could do the same legwork themselves, but he is a classic scientist and never complains about extra research.  
Half-past midnight, he remembers the bug he'd found in his program earlier. He remembers it because he sees the post-it note about it on one side of his desk as he's getting up to leave it.  
 _It'll only take a half-hour, tops,_ he says to himself, sitting back down. _I know what I'm doing._

That was, of course, three hours ago.

Garth Toren, Ph.D., closes the INDI client, takes his glasses off, and presses the heels of his hands against his closed eyes. He can feel them pulsing in his skull, overtaxed and probably red-rimmed by now. He thinks again that he should get some sleep, but his brain doesn't seem to understand the concept; code is writing and editing itself on the insides of his eyelids, and a small, automatic voice from his subconscious is reminding him to check his email again.

The discipline and drive that had gotten him through years of graduate school is wreaking havoc on his home life. It's only been a half-year since charming, vivacious private-school teacher Sparrow Black had come to live with him, adding more to his life than he'd thought possible -- or desirable -- and he still hasn't quite gotten the hang of being a man soon to be married. His colleagues were jovially envious and her students already knew him almost as well as they knew her, but he still feels as though he is dreaming. He'd tried dating a few times in the past, shortly before and shortly after getting his doctorate, but women were dissatisfied with his attentions and men were dissatisfied with his interests. He'd come close to what he thought might be love once or twice -- but Dr Lucien Fairfax had become lost to him and to the world in the worst way, and the other... well, he still had no explanation for that.

Now he had a _real_ chance, and instead of enjoying the warm body next to him in his queen-size four-poster, he was staring at a screen until his eyes crossed, his back begging for mercy and his brain buzzing like a wasp on steroids.

He doesn't hear the stairs creak, and he doesn't hear the dog's low _boof_ of acknowledgement as its human passes the living room. But he does hear the door to his study creak open from its ajar position, and he looks up guiltily, a sheepish apology already forming on his tongue. He forgets how to speak when his sore eyes focus on her.

"Do you know how long I've been wearing this?" Sparrow leans against the door frame, a fetching silhouette draped in a filmy robe. The lingerie underneath matches the robe, and he recognises the Frederick's of Hollywood ensemble immediately. He should; he'd picked it out. "It's lovely, and I quite enjoyed checking out my reflection in the mirror. But that's not why I wore it."

She crosses the room, and Garth sits back in his chair and stares, too hypnotised to do much else. The constant calculations in his mind begin to wind down, and the blood fuelling his brain is contemplating taking a trip south.   
"You told me you were coming to bed."

"I... I was," he responds lamely. "I just... something came up..." He gestures vaguely towards the laptop, but she pushes the monitor downward, closing it. She has to bend over the desk to do so, and Garth swallows thickly, watching.

"You told me I was the brightest star in your sky, but you haven't looked at me once tonight," she chides, smirking as she drops the robe with a flourish, knowing the effect she is having and obviously enjoying it. He can't believe he's spent so long with his fingers at a keyboard, now that his fingers can think of nothing better than sliding over her supple skin and into places he can't yet see.  
She comes around the desk, pushing the laptop back and perching where it once was, pulling him to his feet by his open shirt collar and pushing the chair away with her feet.

"You owe me," she whispers, her breath cool on his cheek, her legs wrapping around his waist and her arms around his shoulders. 

By the time they were engaged, they had settled into a comfortable sexual relationship -- the early-phase energy dissipated and made their encounters less fervent, less hungry. Slow and steady worked for them, and on some Saturday mornings drowsy and languorous worked even better. But fervent and hungry is back with a vengeance now, in the way he pulls the silk off her hips and the way she pushes her hand past his waistband to squeeze him, in the bruising way their lips meet and the sharp arch of her back as he cups her breast, and when she guides him into her he grips her ass and drives himself in the rest of the way like his life depends on it.

The desk creaks in protest but he keeps going, the tops of his thighs slamming against the edge of the structure with each thrust, and Sparrow leans back on her hands to watch him, her lips parted and her breath gasping. Just watching her watch him is enough to send him over the edge, he thinks, but then his gaze slides down her body and to where their bodies are joined, and he shivers as a fresh wave of lust breaks over him. He brings his hands down to her knees, slips his fingers underneath them, pulls her legs up until her ankles rest on his shoulders, and she gasps as the angle of his thrust changes, deepens. He slides his hands back down, up her belly, over her breasts; she uses the desk as leverage to push her hips against his as he increases his pace, and he leans forward, the friction against her clitoris making her shudder, her eyes slipping closed and her head falling back.

It's quicker than he thinks, from her pulling him out of his chair to her fingers scrabbling against the slick wooden surface and knocking things off it as she cries out, once, the sound sharp as a whip-crack in the silent house. She has an excuse, in that she'd been thinking about him all night and was already halfway there by the time she came downstairs to seek him out. Still, he's not long to follow; no matter how well he thinks he's doing, the way she tightens around him and arches her back and pushes her hips against him never fails to snatch all control from him. He drops bonelessly into his chair when they're separated, Sparrow still sprawled back against the desk, catching her breath.

"Ugh, I'm going to have bruises," she groans as she sits up, massaging the tops of her thighs. "You're such a savage, for a nerd."

"Whatever. You started it," he retorts, tucking himself away, his eyes half-lidded. He feels incredibly sleepy now, to the point where he can't imagine getting back to his feet, let alone up the stairs and to the bedroom. She looks at him, then scoffs indignantly.

"Oh, no way! You'd better not fall asleep in that chair, mister. You are coming to bed tonight, whether you like it or not."

"Right. So you can take advantage of me in the morning," he murmurs, smirking as she snorts but doesn't deny it.

"Come on," she whispers sweetly, kissing him and taking his hands. "Come to bed, husband-to-be. I miss you being there."

And so he goes, and they do it again in the warmth of late morning, slowly and luxuriously, until the dog bounds in and lovingly reminds them they have to get up to feed and walk him, and while outside they decide to try that new bistro that hadn't gotten a chance to try yet, and gelato goes so well with a late-afternoon walk in the park, and by the time Garth finally sits down to check his email, he's swamped with them.

 _Worth it,_ he thinks, smiling, as he settles down to work.


End file.
